I always ask my brother, Lehi Benton, who is an Iraq war combat veteran, to help me out with Memorial Day pieces. This year, he wrote one especially for the truckers, because he realizes how much they rely and depend upon their machines — a lot like Army tankers. Please take a moment to honor our fallen veterans today, and enjoy a story from one who made it home. –Wendy
The whirr and whine of our tank engines, and along with it, the feeling of safety we got inside her thick depleted uranium skin. She was our Mother … carrying her brood in her belly, and bringing a shocking end to anything that would threaten her progeny. Just like the men that were beside us, she had become as much a part of our circle of humanity as any person could be. To us, she was alive, and we loved her like any man loves his horse, or his canine companion, or … his Mother.
On this Memorial Day, I’d like to recognize the trucking audience. We have something in common. Right now, your livelihood depends upon a machine under your care. As I’m sure many of you already know, there are probably more times you feel that you are under the machine’s care.
I spent my days in the Army in the MOS 19K (19 Kilo) — an M1 Abrams Armor Crewmember. I was a Cavalryman. Our attachment to our machine would be very hard to explain to anyone that doesn’t understand it as we do. She is alive. She is something we both hate and worship. When we lose her, it is certainly as emotional as losing a friend. My story for this Memorial Day isn’t tragic, but it is sad. It’s the story of our machine, and the last day we saw her. This is a Soldier’s story, so in honoring our fallen Brothers today I’ll honor something we loved so dearly.
We were in that last two weeks of a long and grueling deployment. The unit replacing us had already shown up, and they were starting to take some of our patrol duties, allowing us to prepare for re-deployment back to the States. All of us were worn linen-thin. We had lost some buddies, and some others would never recover from their injuries. We were beginning to realize that even though we had convinced ourselves we were going to die, we weren’t. I guess we may have convinced ourselves that we were going to die in part because we actually believed it, but mainly because it allowed us to let go of that little bit of our soul, giving us the courage to leave the wire every day.
We were gaunt and dirty, years older than we were 6 months ago. I felt like Rip Van Winkle. I was waking up to thoughts of seeing my family; of eating good food; and of sleeping for days. But there was still work to be done.
